To stimulate him and to give him an earnest of what I intended to do for
him, when our little social deal had been put through, I showed him how he
could win ten thousand dollars in the next three days. "And you needn't
bother about putting up margins," said I, as I often had before. "I'll take
care of that."

He stammered a refusal and went out; but he came back within an hour, and,
in a strained sort of way, accepted my tip and my offer.

"That's sensible," said I. "When will you attend to the matter at the
Travelers? I want to be warned so I can pull my own set of wires in
concert."

"I'll let you know," he answered, hanging his head.

I didn't understand his queer actions then. Though I was an expert in
finance, I hadn't yet made a study of that other game--the game of
"gentleman." And I didn't know how seriously the frauds and fakirs who play
it take it and themselves. I attributed his confusion to a ridiculous mock
modesty he had about accepting favors; it struck me as being particularly
silly on this occasion, because for once he was to give as well as to take.

He didn't call for his profits, but wrote asking me to mail him the check
for them. I did so, putting in the envelop with it a little jog to his
memory on the club matter. I didn't see him again for nearly a month; and
though I searched and sent, I couldn't get his trail. On opening day at
Morris Park, I was going along the passage behind the boxes in the grand
stand, on my way to the paddock. I wanted to see my horse that was about to
run for the Salmagundi Sweepstakes, and to tell my jockey that I'd give him
fifteen thousand, instead of ten thousand, if he won--for I had put quite a